Varāhamihira and the Hidden Waters of Panipat
On our way back from Haridwar, we decided to take the highway via Panipat instead of Meerut. The modern superhighways, though smooth and efficient, had taken away much of the charm of traditional road travel. The once-ubiquitous roadside dhabas, known for their rustic appeal and delicious food, were now sparse. Craving a cup of tea, I asked my nephew Babai, who was driving, to stop at one of the remaining old-style dhabas.
The dhaba we chose had an air of nostalgia, with woven khatias (cots) and the scent of fresh tandoori rotis in the air. As we settled onto a khatia with our tea, I noticed an elderly farmer enjoying a leisurely hukka. The sight of endless green fields stretching out in every direction—flourishing with sugarcane, mustard, lentils, and jawar—made me appreciate the transformation agriculture had undergone.
The farmer, noticing my curiosity, started a conversation. He spoke of how farming had evolved over the years. Drip irrigation had replaced the age-old flood irrigation, and modern pressurized pipelines had improved efficiency. He credited the Bhakra Nangal Dam for this revolution, but then, with a twinkle in his eye, he leaned forward and said, "Do you know how we first found water in this land?"
His words piqued my interest. I had always believed that understanding the past was crucial to solving present challenges—a lesson I had applied in my career, from power plants to management. The farmer then began a tale that transported us to another time, another era, where knowledge was not just learned but observed from nature itself.
Tau’s Story: The Search for Water
The scorching sun hung over the kingdom of Malwa, where King Yashodharman’s court was alive with scholars and ministers. Among them sat the great Varāhamihira, a polymath whose wisdom stretched from the stars above to the soil beneath. His grasp of astronomy, mathematics, and hydrology was unmatched.
That morning, a weary traveler arrived at the court, dust-covered from his long journey.
A Student’s Desperate Plea
“Where do you come from, young one?” Varāhamihira asked, studying the visitor.
“From Punjab, Master,” the young man bowed deeply. “My name is Hira. I have come to learn from you.”
Varāhamihira smiled. “The thirst for knowledge is rare.”
Hira hesitated, then sighed. “Knowledge is not my only thirst, Master. My people suffer. We thirst for water.”
The court fell silent.
“Tell me,” Varāhamihira urged.
Hira took a deep breath. “In our land near Panipat and Kurukshetra, the rains are scarce. The wells have dried. We dig and dig, but we find only dust.”
Varāhamihira stroked his beard. “Nature never hides its secrets completely. We must read its signs.”
Hira’s voice was desperate. “Then come with me, Master! Teach me, or let us find the water together.”
Varāhamihira turned to King Yashodharman. “Your Majesty, knowledge should not remain in books—it must serve the people. I must go.”
The king, though reluctant to part with his greatest scholar, nodded. “Go, Varāhamihira. If anyone can bring water to that land, it is you.”
And so, the master and his student journeyed toward the parched lands of Panipat and Kurukshetra.
Nature’s Hidden Clues
As they traveled north, Hira eagerly listened to his master’s teachings on winds, stars, and the secrets of the earth. But when they arrived, the sight of cracked fields and abandoned wells filled him with doubt.
“Master, where do we begin? This land is dead.”
Varāhamihira knelt and picked up a handful of soil, rubbing it between his fingers. “The land is never truly dead, Hira. It is only waiting to be understood.”
They began their search.
1. The Mystery of the Green Grove
- Amidst the barren land, Varāhamihira pointed at a solitary Peepal tree.
- “Why does this tree thrive while everything else dies?” he asked.
- “Its roots must reach deep,” Hira guessed.
- “Exactly. And if its roots find water, so can we.”
2. The Ant Hills’ Secret
- Near a dried pond, they saw tiny ants carrying damp soil.
- “Look, Hira. These creatures dig deep for moisture.”
- Hira’s eyes widened. “That means water is below!”
3. The Birds’ Hidden Knowledge
- Each morning, flocks of pigeons and wild peacocks circled a particular patch of land.
- “They sense something underground,” Varāhamihira observed.
- “Master, then this must be where we dig!” Hira exclaimed.
The Digging Begins
Varāhamihira called the villagers. “Dig here, and do not stop until the earth yields its gift.”
The villagers hesitated. “We have dug before and found nothing.”
Hira stepped forward. “Trust my master. He has read the signs.”
With renewed hope, the digging began.
Days passed. The sun blazed. The villagers’ hands bled. Doubt crept in. But Varāhamihira remained calm.
Then, on the seventh day—
A gush of cool water burst forth!
Cheers erupted. Elders wept. Women cupped the water in their hands, pouring it over their children’s heads.
Hira looked at his master in awe. “You have given them life.”
Varāhamihira smiled. “No, Hira. The water was always here. We only learned to listen.”
A Legacy of Water and Wisdom
Before leaving, Varāhamihira taught the villagers:
- How to build stepwells to store water.
- How to plant trees like Peepal and Neem to mark underground reservoirs.
- How to observe nature’s signs so they would never suffer again.
As they prepared to return to Ujjain, Hira turned to his master.
“I came seeking knowledge, but I have found something greater—wisdom.”
Varāhamihira placed a hand on his shoulder. “And wisdom, Hira, is meant to be shared.”
From that day, the lands near Panipat and Kurukshetra flourished, their people forever grateful to the man who could read the whispers of the earth.
Footnote: The Genius of Varāhamihira
Varāhamihira (505–587 CE) was one of India’s greatest astronomers and scientists. His magnum opus, Brihat Samhita, covered everything from astronomy and astrology to hydrology and meteorology. In an age without modern instruments, he used keen observation, deep knowledge of nature, and logical reasoning to solve practical problems.
His methods of water detection, based on soil types, plant growth, and animal behavior, were centuries ahead of their time and influenced Indian water conservation techniques, such as stepwells and rainwater harvesting systems.
His legacy reminds us that science is not just about knowledge—it is about using that knowledge to serve humanity.
As I finished my tea at the dhaba, I looked at the farmer and nodded. His story wasn’t just about history—it was a lesson. I had always believed in root cause analysis, in solving problems by understanding them deeply. Whether in engineering, management, or life, the answer was always there—we just had to listen.